


I Want The D

by silentsoundy



Series: I Want The D [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsoundy/pseuds/silentsoundy
Summary: [Reaper/Reader meme drabble found on reyes-is-dead Tumblr]





	1. Reaper/Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Send me ‘I want the D’ and I’ll generate a number   
> 11: Doggy-Style Sex

_Didn’t really matter in the end how it all came to be.  Willing, ready, available, amicable, agreeable.  With those heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and come-hither gaze that immediately caught the Wraith’s attention.  Except you hadn’t known who he was, what he was, his intentions and capabilities.  All you saw was a thick piece of what you body hoped would fill the void in all that muscle and dark, unnerving gaze boring down on you.  An apex predator with chocolate brown eyes, a killer grin, and a voice that make all things wet and hard and ache in all the right ways gone wrong._

_A few words purred into your ear, roughened fingertips playing at the fine baby-hairs at the back of your neck, and all sorts of promises of the good, the bad, and the obscene sighed in every breath._

_As much as you had liked to think you made the Wraith your mark, he’s made you his, and it became abundantly clear when the thin crimson lines began to bead the tell-tale signs of a possessive lover down your back._

_Directing you, guiding you with strong, sure hands and punishing claws that score gentle reminders across your flesh, he positioned you the way you should be, offering yourself with a dipped lower back and swayed and canted hips, presenting like some bitch in heat begging to be fucked balls-deep and filled to the brink of seeing stars.  None of that hunched over bullshit five minute fucking tonight for you.  For however quick he got your panties to drop, he’d slow time down enough to have your muddled mind slug through the fog of lust long enough to wonder if the sun had risen already or was that the flickering light of the Motel 6′s sign outside the window._

_And there the Wraith was, every second in every minute to while away the hours smacking flesh, swapping spit, spreading blush and red across your skin in praise as much as in punishment when you’d thought to take matters into your own hands with your impatience and frustration.  Lifting your hips with every hard thrust to mash your cheek against pillow and sheets, each row of his frenum ladder filled you with such sweet stretched grinding, spreading you only to have left you wide, open, exposed with every inch withdrawn.  And when those thick fingers dipped to push at your lips to flick clawtips and tease further, all you had heard were those sinful snickers slithering in cadence to your own involuntary cries and moans._

_He left you a quivering mess of bruised hips and midriff with how he’d spent his load inside you.  Pressed tight together fucking and rutting like goddamn animals, leaving a shoulder and earlobe sore and red-raw with teeth marks driven by that very same possessiveness and lust he’d claimed you with all night.  Numb and covered with a towel so graciously offered to start to clean yourself up, he left you there, another stain added to the rent-by-the-hour’s sheets, a thanks for the great time, and no name._


	2. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Reyes/Male Mercy (engclsgleich) meme drabble found on reyes-is-dead Tumblr]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me ‘I want the D’ and I’ll generate a number   
> 3\. Comfort Sex

_By the skin of their teeth and scraped from their knees the small collaborative task force set out to infiltrate an Omnium’s weapons cache extracted with only two casualties and a mission completed successfully stamped on the dossier.  The Commander had been satisfied, impressed with how cool, calm and collected the green Medic had remained.  Even with the blood of colleagues on his hands.  And as combat hardened as he’d become, he’d noticed the subtle signs of psychological fallout slowly edging at that gentle expression and polite mannerism excusing the Medic from the usual Blackwatch post mission celebratory round of drinks and blacking out shenanigans._

_There had been that shrug and a pat on the back, a job well done murmured, and moving on.  After all the Medic’s not part of his team.  Overwatch.  Not his circus, not his monkey.  Let the ugly denim squad look out for their own._

_Only if it had been that easy for the Commander however, an unusual sense of sympathy lingering in the air after the Medic had taken his leave.  The man had proven himself on the field and had deserved better than the usual cold brushing off the Commander gave those outside his inner circle.  He’d have told himself after all was said and done that his intentions had been a bottle of wine and shooting the shit, to keep the young Medic company until Morrison had time for him in the morning, to help chase the ghost of combat away while offering a shoulder, an ear, a bottle.  Whatever would have helped._

_But it was a ping of his arrival, a few cursory inquiries after the other man’s well-being, and a quiet string of the old trope that had lead to more.  Whatever it would have taken to wash the blood from those hands and keep the demons inside that skull at bay, the Medic’s broken voice and watery eyes, the tinge of shell-shock goaded by a slew of what-ifs._

I could have saved them  
I could have done more.  
It should have been me.  
They needn’t have died.  
They were killed.  
I could have done more.  
So much more.  
Why am I still alive?  
How do you do it?  
I need to feel alive.  
Why don’t I feel alive?

_All having passed within an hour of the Commander’s arrival at the Medic’s personal quarters, they found themselves entangled and entwined in an ugly mesh of survivor’s guilt and repression.  Bottle of wine discarded, the road to Hell had been paved, and the light at the end of their tunnel had been filled with a gasping desperation of quickened breaths and sweat-slick bodies._

_The Commander had lost two of his own.  Now destroyed paperwork and two unnamed gravestone markers.  Blackwatch contracts sign, sealed, delivered.  Status quo._

_The Medic had lost Agents he’d ultimately been responsible for, according to him.  Pointless, painful, leaving him empty in all the Crisis’s futility._

_But for a moment, a split second, a grain of sand in their hourglasses, they find peace in the violence of their bodies finding solace in the dark._


	3. Reaper/Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Reaper/Joe (talonsaconite) meme drabble found on reyes-is-dead Tumblr]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me ‘I want the D’ and I’ll generate a number   
> 16\. Sex Pollen

_The Wraith had maintained a rather sterile and professional relationship with the majority of the support and medical staff he’d worked with pre/post Blackwatch.  Or rather, he’d like to have believed that.  After all, what good would have come from hooking up with your doctor and having it all turn sour.  Don’t piss off the one who’d stick needles into you for fun._

_So yeah, sure, he’d hold polite conversation with a certain mad scientist out of Oasis, a ghost from his past.  Share a drink or two with a certain Medic.  And of course swap a bit of snark and wit, banter and the like with Talon’s lead Scientist.  No harm, no foul.  Scratching backs and cashing in favours.  As if he’d have a choice.  They’d be keeping him alive thus far, why ruin a good thing?_

_The most recent soak in the Tank left his head in the clouds and his focus oddly skewed, distracted, senses out of wack and nanites forever recalibrating.  Out of order his brain seemed to have been when climbing out from the depths of that enormous SENDEP fishbowl of his and in dire need of..._

_Of..._

_Red.  Crimson.  A slip of a creature for all the squinting in the world does him good at attempting to discern what exactly it was standing before him.  A siren’s song with words and low laughter, an image quickly being drawn having associated sense to nonsense.  Whatever she had done to him, it mattered not in that instant.  She was all and everything to him, madly and intensely beyond anything he’d ever experienced in his life._

_She beckoned him with a single upwards curl of a finger and he’d wraith kissing the ground she stood upon._

_He was hers to do with as she pleased, however she please, whatever she wanted of him, from him, as him.  Wholly and entirely what he’d been turned into._

_Kill and he’d not stop until she bade._

_Maim until she’d been sated._

_Grovel until growing bored._

_But it wasn’t anything so obvious or basic as commanding the Wraith to tear the world down around them until he’d snuff himself out._

_Her hands began gentle against flesh freshly knitted until she’d molded him into the Eldritch monster of her choosing, using and abusing the mad science that had birthed him decades prior.  And as she worked her fervor grew as did his blind, drug-induced enslavement and utter obedience towards this new mistress, madness taking them both under its wing.  Had her begging him to use those inky-soot tendril on her, to lavish and ravish with that length of tongue, mark her with those claws, and watch and watch and watch on with the multitude of roving roaming bloodshot eyes._

_He lived to please her in that knot of snakes.  Bodies writhing only to become undone at the moment of climax.  Coaxed back into the Tank for another round of injections, to continue the cycle._

_After all, in order to obtain any sort of respectable results, many, many points of data must be accumulated and studied._


	4. Reaper/Wisp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Reaper/Wisp (ceocu) meme drabble found on reyes-is-dead Tumblr]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me ‘I want the D’ and I’ll generate a number   
> 12\. Rough Sex

_He means it.  Every time in every connotation and sense of the meaning.  In passing, in a text, in every sigh and breath it’s spoken or moaned.  In every blush left by a linger kiss and bruise left by a grip unwillingly clenched too tight._

You’re beautiful.

_The monster is unable to be drawn away by anything else, is drawn towards the Thief like the proverbial moth to flame, those entangling tendrils of obsession and desire, want, need, greed, lust, all the sins and virtues a chaotic knot strangling his lucidity.  One of the few, the rare, the lucky ones that had been able to ensnare and collar the Wraith so easily, effortlessly.  With a look masked in kohl and a body ravaged by more of that mad science._

_He relates, was the cause and now reaps the effect all the while selfishly doting affection upon affection on this sometimes lover._

So beautiful.

_He sees red slashed green, beacons in the shared darkness and shadows.  Hears a strong heartbeat through the panting and the cries, the slapping of sweat-soaked flesh and choking.  The Wraith allows himself to be bound even as his mind screams protest and body stiffens against his will.  Allows those nimble, deft fingers to search and prod, sate curiosity and explore scars, wounds, modifications, inside and out.  Allows himself to be used as a petty thing, a tool to slake lust and exhaust rage, to be fucked and made love to, and to be used to fuck and bring comfort._

_Their’s is an agreement needing very little spoken terms, a mutual attraction as safe a haven as it is a terrifying trap.  With ropes and chains, crimson candle wax and leather, blindfolds and promises of such sweet, sweet pain._

Beautiful  _Thief_.

_It’s never enough for the monster and too much for the man.  But there’s a moment, a halted breath, a swallowed moan, a bitten back cry when he’s permitted to chase his release and he’s got his lover in his claws marked with rings of teeth having broken skin, just a single gut clenching moment filling his lover with a shudder that has him feeling filled himself.  Connected.  Not alone._

_As he drowns in crimson waves and sea-green stars._


	5. Reaper/Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Reaper/Medic (medic-0001 meme drabble found on reyes-is-dead Tumblr]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me ‘I want the D’ and I’ll generate a number   
> 5\. Heavy-Petting

_What was she to him but another sterile object of cold, discarded affection?  A thing crossing his path when in dire need of a distraction, when claws and teeth and honeyed words flex and grin and slither from him to drape her with irresistible allure.  What was the Medic to the Wraith than something shiny to pass the time with when his own reckoning and frustration became too much to bear alone?_

_She was there in the foreground of his hellish existence surrounded by restraints and syringes, drips of poison laced with mad science to keep him alive.  As much of a thing to her as she was to him._

_She was there for the aftermath spent alone, then not so much alone, in the Tank, watching, waiting, unblinking and patient while he’d been bound and gagged and swallowed whole by the monster._

_She was there to witness her work, the collective effort that strove to perfect Talon’s wildcard, strengthen that foundation, steadfast in their resolve to bring forth a future of their own design forged by the monster they brought to life._

_His caretaker and salvation, a tool to be used as much as he’s become one himself._

_But with all this knowledge and experience shared between them there is no animosity, no frigid hatred or loathing in his lucid eyes.  His touches remain as gentle as he’s able to be with her because he’s able to sense in her the same sort of fissured damage that’s started to shatter within himself.  He treats her as a thing apart from the rest, something that’s his and worth more than a second thought, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of all of it._

_When they exchange coy snark and snickers, when there are flickers of physical interest and unspoken invitations, he humours her.  Not out of pity or idle pettiness, but of the deeper need to connect._

_It’s evident when bared claws trace over her flesh and his hands pull her in close.  When he can’t help himself and leaves thin stripes down her back and arms, crescent indentations of a kiss becoming more with teeth and tongue.  He gives the monster its head to do with her as he pleases, yet it’s never more than just enough to display and almost platonic affection were it not for the possessive undertones._

_He acts as if she is his toy, but in reality the Medic’s the one that owns him in these moments._


End file.
